


Five of Cups

by JhanaMay



Series: Arcana [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, M/M, Season 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:08:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21521947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JhanaMay/pseuds/JhanaMay
Summary: In the months following Jessica's death, Dean has tried to ignore the way Sam isn't getting better. Finally, he tries something new to get through to his brother.Set immediately after Provenance (1x19).
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: Arcana [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1551187
Comments: 7
Kudos: 78





	Five of Cups

Mile marker thirty-five flashes past the window and Dean swallows a sigh. Fourteen hours in the car is about eight hours too many, especially when Sam has gone mute again. Dean loves the open road, but his ass fell asleep about four states back. 

They’re still two hours outside Galesburg, Iowa and pressing on to get there in the middle of the night isn’t worth it. They won’t be able to investigate the string of disappearances that sent them this way until morning either way. When the blinking vacancy sign comes into sight twenty minutes later, Dean takes it as a sign.

“What are you doing?” Sam says when he pulls off the road, finally breaking out of the dead stare out the passenger window he’s had going since they left New York. “We’re almost there.”

“It’s almost midnight and there’s nothing we can do until morning. I’m about to run off the road into a ditch.”

Sam stretches and sits up straighter in the seat. “I can drive.”

Dean ignores him as he pulls into a parking space and kills the engine. Sam stays in the car while Dean gets a room and is silent as they carry their things inside. The worry for Sam that Dean has been carrying his whole life swells to a crescendo.

“What’s got you so messed up?” Dean asks, not expecting Sam to admit to anything but needing to try.

Sam flops back onto his bed—farthest from the door as always—and throws one arm over his eyes. “I’m not.”

“You’ve been doing a good impression of a coma patient since New York. Is this about the girl? We could have stayed... for a couple days, anyway.”

“What would be the point?” 

Dean hates the dejection in Sam’s voice. When he’d gone back to the door to kiss Sarah, Dean thought maybe Sam was finally getting over Jess’ death, but the hours since have been worse than ever. “A little R&R? She likes you. It would have been good for you.”

Sam’s lips flatten into a thin line before he answers. “What would have been? Sleeping with her and then never seeing her again?”

Since that describes Dean’s entire romantic history—when he pointedly avoids the memory of his time with Cassie—he shrugs. “They make these things now called cell phones. You could keep in touch and stop in next time we have a case up that way.”

“How would that be fair to her?” Sam throws his arm off and shoves himself off the bed. The bathroom door slams before Dean can answer.

Dean takes a step forward before reconsidering. He empties his pockets onto the nightstand and checks his gun before sliding it under the pillow and laying down on the bed. After ten minutes with no sound from the bathroom, Dean is ready to bust down the door.

Everything is so fucked up. John is alive and out there on the trail of the yellow-eyed demon, but these days, Dean worries more about Sam than he does about finding that son-of-a-bitch. Honestly, Dean is enjoying hunting with Sam without their father looking over their shoulders. The last few months before Sam left for school were brutal, and Dean hated refereeing their fights. Sam being by his side without the constant bickering has been awesome. 

What hasn’t been awesome is the haunted despair in Sam’s eyes. There haven’t been any visions or moving shit with his mind, but Dean watches him like a hawk. Mostly, Sam seems sad, and Dean doesn’t have the foggiest idea what to do about it.

When another fifteen minutes tick by, Dean crosses the room and puts his ear to the door. Silence except for the tick of the baseboard heat and cars on the highway outside. “Open the door, Sam.”

More silence.

Dean sighs and squeezes the back of his neck. “I’m coming in. If you’re jerking off, you better put it away.”

It only takes Dean a moment to jimmy the lock, but when he pushes the door open, Sam is sitting on the floor with his back to the tub, legs drawn up to his chest. His head rests on arms folded across the tops of his knees, hiding his face. Fuck. Dean almost forgot how Sam would hide in the bathroom when they were kids, but he used to fit in tiny motel bathrooms a lot better.

“Get up before your back cramps, dumbass,” Dean snaps, stepping toward him.

Sam rubs his face on his arms before looking up, and moisture glistens in the corners of his bloodshot eyes. He stares at Dean but doesn’t move. When Dean takes a step toward him, Sam gestures him away. “Leave me alone.”

“No.” Dean finishes crossing the tiny room and grips Sam’s bicep. “I’ve been doing nothing but leaving you alone and it’s done jack shit.” He tries to haul Sam up, but Sam bats him away. When Sam stands on his own, Dean backs away.

“What do you care? No chick flick moments, right?” Sam shoves past him back out into the hotel room.

Dean follows and grabs Sam’s arm, spinning him around and pushing him back against the ugly wallpaper. “Fuck you, Sam. I fucking care when it looks like I should have you on suicide watch.”

Sam’s breath catches on an aborted sob. “I loved her. I was going to ask her to marry me, Dean. And it’s my fault she’s dead. Just like it’s my fault mom is gone. There’s something wrong with me, something evil inside me.”

“Bullshit. It’s that yellow-eyed bastard’s fault, not yours.”

“Whatever he did to me, it’s like a disease inside of me. I destroy everyone I care about. If I got involved with Sarah, I’d end up destroying her, too.”

It’s the bleakness in Sam’s eyes that undoes Dean. He’s spent his entire life trying to protect Sam, trying to take care of him, but there’s nothing he can do about the self-loathing dripping from Sam’s every word. His little brother is slipping through his fingers. 

Dean has nothing left but a wild Hail Mary. Acting on impulse and pure desperation, Dean grabs Sam by the shoulders, pushes him against the wall, and kisses him. For two glorious seconds, Sam lets him. He doesn’t kiss back, but his lips are warm and soft and pliant under Dean’s. It’s everything Dean has wanted, everything he has been shoving down and ignoring for years. 

It ends exactly the way Dean always expected it would if he got the balls to do it. Sam’s soft lips go hard and unyielding and he shoves Dean away with so much force that Dean stumbles back and catches his hip on the edge of the dresser. Pain shoots through him, but it’s nothing compared to the agony caused by the confusion and terror on Sam’s face. 

Sam wipes the back of his hand across his lips, eyes wide. “What the hell, Dean?”

“Sam.”

“No.” Sam throws out one arm like a shield when Dean steps forward. “I mean, what the actual fuck? What is wrong with you? Are you possessed?” Sam’s gaze snaps past him to his duffle on the bed as if he’s calculating whether he can get to it before Dean attacks him.

Another spasm of anguish slices through Dean like a gunshot, and he recoils. Bile rises in his throat. What the fuck has he done? For five years, he’s pushed those feelings away, kept Sam safe and unaware of how screwed up Dean is, and in one instant, he’s fucked everything up.

Before Sam can move, Dean reaches into Sam’s duffle himself. After sprinkling holy water on his arm, making a slice with a silver knife, and putting a pinch of salt in his mouth, Sam relaxes. “There’s nothing wrong with me,” Dean insists. “I—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“You shouldn’t have? That’s a hell of an understatement, Dean.” Sam pushes away from the wall and gives Dean a wide berth as he moves toward his bed. Dean steps back so Sam can get to the weapons, but Sam doesn’t reach into the bag. He stands there, staring at Dean with a dazed expression. “It’s me,” he finally says. “Whatever the yellow-eyed demon did to me, it’s gotten to you, too.”

“It’s not you,” Dean snaps. “There’s nothing wrong with you. I needed—I couldn’t—” Dean can’t put into words what he barely understands himself. “Fuck, Sammy. I don’t know why I did that.”

Sam sinks down on the bed and brushes his hand over his mouth again. But this time, his expression is less guarded. “I don’t understand,” he whispers, eyes pleading with Dean to explain.

Dean wishes he could. All he knows is that one day, right before Sam left for Stanford, Sam was injured during a hunt. The head wound had bled and bled and it had terrified Dean how close Sam had come to not making it out of the nest. While patching him up, Dean had smoothed Sam’s tangled, blood matted hair back from his face, looked into Sam’s eyes, and the crazy impulse to kiss him had come over Dean. Dean had looked at his brother and felt something he shouldn’t, something wonderful and terrible, and it had scared the shit out of him. He’s spent every day since locking it away.

With a shrug, Dean backs up and sits on his own bed. “I don’t either.”

Sam watches him for a long time, his hazel eyes skating over Dean’s face again and again before he stands up. He takes his gun out of his duffle and tucks it into the back of his jeans. “I’m going out,” he says in a flat voice, and he avoids making eye contact as he moves toward the door.

That terror—the absolute, mind-numbing fear of losing Sam—rockets through Dean again. “Sam—”

“I need to think, and I can’t do that here with you.”

Dean’s stomach rebels and he swallows hard to keep from vomiting. “I could go—”

Sam sighs. “No. Stay here. I’m coming back, Dean, and we’re going to talk about this whether you want to or not, but right now, I need space.” He looks down at his watch. “I’ll be back in an hour.” 

The car keys jingle—the sound harsh in Dean’s ears—when Sam snags them off the little table inside the door. It’s a long time after the door closes behind him and Baby’s engine rumbles to life before Dean moves. His eyes burn and his chest aches and no matter how many deep breaths he takes, he still wants to hurl.

How could he be so fucking stupid? No matter how many times he has fantasized about it, especially since he picked Sam up from college, he knows better than to act on it. Not only because Sam probably hates him now—he’s probably disgusted by Dean and is sitting somewhere right now trying to figure out how to get away—but because his father will kill him. Not figuratively, but very, very literally. Dean has been careful to keep his time with other guys away from John, but this isn’t even in the same ballpark. He’s supposed to take care of Sam, not take advantage of him.

Dean forces his eyes to focus on the clock on the nightstand. It’s been twenty-three minutes since Sam walked out. He said he’s coming back, but even if he does, Dean doesn’t know how he’ll face it when Sam tells him he’s leaving for good. That he never wants to see Dean again. 

The bed creaks when Dean pushes himself up to stumble to the bathroom. He splashes cold water from the sink over his face and stares at his reflection in the glazed mirror. What does Sam see when he looks at Dean now? A monster?

Dean drags himself back to the bed and stretches out, one arm folded over his eyes. He replays the scene over and over and over in his mind. From the ill-conceived, half-aware impulse to the kiss to the look of betrayal on Sam’s face. He’s still reliving it and beating himself up when the growl of the Impala signals Sam’s return.

The door opens then clicks shut, and heavy footsteps cross the room. Dean doesn’t move his arm. Maybe if he pretends to be asleep, he can avoid what’s coming until tomorrow. Maybe he can have one more night with his brother.

A harsh sigh accompanies Sam settling on the other bed. Dean counts the seconds in his head and gets to forty-two before Sam says, “I know you’re awake.”

Dean doesn’t answer. 

“We need to talk.”

This is the part where Sam tells him he can’t be around Dean anymore. Dean still doesn’t answer, and the lump in his throat makes it hard to breathe.

“Dean, we can’t ignore this. If you won’t look at me, would you at least answer me?”

Dean wets his lips and forces his jaw to unlock. “Just tell me and get it over with,” he grates out.

There’s a beat of silence before Sam says, “Tell you what?”

“That you’re leaving.” 

The bedsprings screech again, and a hand pulls the arm off Dean’s face. He keeps his eyes closed but tears prickle at the edges, and he blinks to keep them from falling. 

“Dean,” Sam says, frustration edging into his voice. “I’m not leaving, but I have questions and I need you to be honest with me.”

Dean would rather shove hot pokers into his eyes than talk about this when the outcome will be the same. Sam will leave, and Dean will be alone again. Forever, this time.

When Dean doesn’t answer after a full minute, Sam says, “Okay, fine. First question. Have you wanted to do that before?” 

Dean licks his lips. His first impulse is to deny it, to play it off as some kind of weird insanity. Fuck it. If Sam will leave anyway, Dean might as well put it all out there. He opens his eyes and glances at Sam’s worried face before looking away again. He pins his gaze to the crappy print of a flower on the opposite wall. “Yes,” he forces out, his voice a croak.

Sam takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Okay. How long?”

Dean recalls that day again. The terror of losing Sam and the realization that he wants to be with Sam forever. “Right before you went to school.”

“Wow,” Sam says, surprise coloring the word. “That long? Um, okay.” 

“You weren’t supposed to know.” Dean’s eyes move to Sam’s face, and he sees concern and confusion there but no disgust... not yet. 

“That’s not fair,” Sam says, and that’s not what Dean was expecting.

“What?” Dean sits up and props himself against the headboard, but he still can’t quite make himself look at Sam. 

“You’re hiding this big thing that affects me, affects us. What am I supposed to think?”

Dean forces himself to meet Sam’s eyes. “It shouldn’t affect you. It’s my problem.”

Sam frowns. “So, are you in love with me? I mean, like that? Romantically?”

Heat creeps up Dean’s neck and he scoffs. “That’s ridiculous.”

Sam’s eyebrows go up and a flush spreads across his cheeks. “Do you, uh, want to have sex with me?”

Jesus. Dean wants to crawl in a hole and die. He shifts uncomfortably on the bed and looks away. “No, Sam. I don’t know. I just—”

“No? Or you don’t know?”

“Sam.”

“Dean.” And after a moment, “Look at me.”

Dean forces his eyes back to Sam’s face and chews his lower lip. “Why aren’t you freaking out?”

Sam considers the question for a moment. “I did, sort of, but I guess nothing about our lives is what most people would call normal. Why should this be any different?” He waits for Dean to respond, but Dean has no idea what to say. “Are you, um, gay? Or bi? Have you been with men?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Bi, I guess. And yeah, a few. Remember the two weeks I spent in Santa Fe when you and dad went to see Bobby about that revenant case? You were like fourteen? I shacked up with a guy I met there.”

Sam looks impressed. “I take it dad doesn’t know.”

“He definitely does not.” 

Sam doesn’t respond for a moment. His jaw works and he has that look he gets when he’s trying to puzzle something out. Finally, when Dean is about to go out of his mind, Sam says, “You’re not the only one.”

“What?” Dean sits up straighter. “You’ve been with guys?”

The faint red tinge on Sam’s cheeks darkens again. “Well, yeah, that too.”

“Too?”

Sam leans back on the bed, propping himself up on his arms, and takes a deep breath. “A few weeks into my first semester at Stanford. I was so angry at dad for the way he reacted to me going and at you for siding with him, but I missed you so much. I almost called you a hundred times and begged you to come get me.”

“I would have.”

“That’s why I didn’t call.” Sam chews the corner of his upper lip for a moment before continuing. “Anyway, there was this guy in my intro to psych class, and we got paired up for a project.”

Dean chuckles. “Sammy, you dog.”

“Are you going to let me talk?”

“Yeah, yeah, go on.” Dean bites back a smile, and he’s so fucking relieved that Sam isn’t walking out the door he doesn’t even care what Sam is about to tell him. 

“Anyway, we were in my dorm room and he hit on me. He said he wanted to”—the flush deepens—“suck me.” He sits up and rubs his hands together before clasping them in his lap. “I’d never done anything like that, and—”

“With a guy?”

Sam pulls a face. “With anyone.”

“Wait, what about that girl in Topeka? Katie? Kylie?”

“Krystal, and I was fifteen, Dean. We kissed a little and then her mom came home and invited me to stay for dinner.”

“So you’re telling me you were still a virgin when you went to college?” The pillow Sam throws catches Dean right in the face, but he’s too happy to care. 

“You know what, never mind—”

“No, no, I’m sorry. Continue.” Dean mimes zipping his lips and throwing away the key.

“So, yeah, I missed you, you know?” Sam stares into space for several moments. “We’d never been apart, not for long, and here I was, unsure if I’d ever see you again. And this guy, he reminded me of you. He got down on the floor between my legs and”—color rises in Sam’s cheeks again and he finishes in a rush—“I closed my eyes and pretended it was you.”

There’s silence in the room while Dean processes. “You pretended it was me blowing you?” Dean repeats in a strangled voice.

“Uh, yeah.” Sam stares down at his clasped hands. “I missed you and he reminded me of you and I remember wishing you were there. His hair was the same color as yours, that same spiky cut you used to have, and it was easy to, uh, imagine it.”

“Imagine it was me on my knees with your dick in my mouth?” 

Sam’s throats bobs and he gives a shaky laugh. “Yeah.”

Dean runs through every single thing Sam might have told him, but this was nowhere on the list. Not even in his darkest, dirtiest, midnight fantasies could he have predicted this. He’s imagined being on his knees at Sam’s feet, Sam looking down at him with desire and approval, a thousand times, and his cock throbs at the idea. 

“Anyway, when it was over, I felt so guilty I jerked him off as fast I could and kicked him out. I ended up doing the whole project myself.” He wrings his hands and laces his fingers together, gripping so tightly his knuckles turn white. “I obsessed over it the rest of the semester, couldn’t stop thinking about you and wondering what you were doing, who you were with. A few weeks into the spring semester, I met Jess, and I put it down to being lonely and screwed up. I tried to ignore it.” He looks up and catches Dean’s eye. “Until tonight.”

Dean stares at him, his breath caught in his throat. “Are you—Sam, do you—are you saying you want me to suck you?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “I know it’s screwed up and wrong, but I’ve been so lonely since Jess—” He swallows hard again. “Since Jess died, and you’re—you’re my best friend. You get it, the whole screwed up mess and why I’m like I am. You’re...”

“Safe?” Dean supplies when Sam trails off.

“Yeah, safe.” Sam shoves himself up from the bed. “That’s horrible, to use you like that. I’m sick for even think—”

Dean stands and grabs Sam’s arm to spin him back around. “It’s not. You’re not sick. And it wouldn’t be using me if I wanted it too.”

“Everyone will—”

“Fuck everyone,” Dean snaps. “They don’t know us and they don’t get to judge.”

“Dad—”

“Fuck Dad too,” Dean says with even more force, his glare daring Sam to argue or look away. “He’s not here. It’s been you and me our whole lives. Dad had no problem dropping us off in random motels, letting us fend for ourselves. He doesn’t get to judge us either.”

Sam draws in a shaky breath and his eyes drop to Dean’s lips.

This time, Dean telegraphs his intentions for a full five seconds. He slides one hand into Sam’s hair, anchoring the back of his head in his palm, and draws Sam down, giving him every opportunity to pull away. In the end, it’s Sam who closes the last few millimeters. 

Dean’s breath leaves him in a rush as Sam’s mouth opens over his. He expected to be the aggressor, but Sam is giving as good as he gets and the kiss goes from sweet to filthy in seconds. Sam’s tongue teases the seam of Dean’s lips and when Dean opens his mouth, Sam delves inside without hesitation. 

The little noises of appreciation and encouragement drive Dean wild, and when Sam’s hands come up to grasp his hips, Dean steps in and presses their bodies together. The bulge in Sam’s jeans bumps against Dean’s already aching cock and he gasps into Sam’s mouth. 

“You want to make that fantasy a reality?” Dean asks with a throaty chuckle, grinding his cock against Sam’s.

Sam’s breath stutters. “Are you sure?”

Dean responds by shoving him back so his legs hit his bed. Sam sits, and Dean steps in, forcing his knees apart, and slides to his knees. Sam moans when Dean makes quick work of his jeans.

Pulling out Sam’s cock, already leaking, is surreal for Dean. He’s imagined this, fantasized about it so many times he’s sure he’s about to wake up. It’s not like he hasn’t seen Sam’s cock before, living in each other’s pockets the way they have, but never like this. Not hard and weeping and so close that the musky scent permeates every breath he takes. He leans in slowly, giving Sam time to change his mind, but Sam only shudders as he waits for Dean’s lips to wrap around the glistening head. Dean licks at the moisture gathered there, savoring the taste and what it represents, then takes Sam clear to the root in one long slide. Sam’s breath leaves him in a rush and his hips stutter, shoving deep into Dean’s throat. 

Dean suppresses a gag—it’s been a while since he’s done this—and bobs his head with the motion, setting a sloppy, irregular pace. He sucks hard on the head and laves his tongue against the shaft, using every trick he knows to make Sam’s eyes roll back in his head. When he glances up through his lashes, Sam looks drunk, eyes half-lidded and lips parted as his breath comes in bursts. 

When Dean slides back down the length, one hand comes up to rest on his head, but only for a second before it’s gone. He pulls off and reaches for Sam’s hand. Sam shudders when Dean places it back on his head and curls Sam’s fingers into his short strands. “You can push down,” he says, pressing his palm against the back of Sam’s hand. Sam raises his other hand to join it and Dean groans in approval. “You can gag me.”

“Dean.”

“I don’t mind, Sammy. Really. I like it.”

Sam’s eyes are wide as saucers. “You enjoy choking on a guy’s dick?”

Dean chuckles and gives him a wink. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”

Before Sam can get any ideas, Dean goes back to work, licking and sucking his way down Sam’s shaft before taking the whole thing in his mouth again. Sam always was a fast learner, and this is no different. As soon as his whole length is in Dean’s mouth, he cants his hips while pushing down on the back of Dean’s head. The head of his cock lodges in Dean’s throat and Dean gags as it cuts off his oxygen. When Dean tries to rise, Sam pushes down harder and tears leak from the corners of Dean’s eyes. Finally, Sam relents and Dean pulls back far enough to drag in a quick breath around Sam’s dick before Sam shoves him down again. 

Dean’s cock throbs, straining against the confines of his jeans, but Dean doesn’t care. He might even be able to get off from nothing but Sam fucking his mouth. Dean lifts one hand from where he’s steadying himself on Sam’s calf and tugs at Sam’s waistband. After a moment, Sam gets the hint and raises up to push his jeans down farther. With the extra room, Dean delves in to roll Sam’s balls between his fingers, and Sam lets out another long moan.

“Fuck, Dean, I’m going to come,” Sam grunts, dropping his hands away from Dean’s head. 

Dean looks up at him with a wicked grin and licks his lips. “Isn’t that the point?”

Sam’s cock twitches and there’s a gleam in his eye when he pulls Dean’s hair to stop him from leaning back in. “Have you ever, um, done anything else?”

From the crimson staining Sam’s cheeks and the interest in his eyes, Dean can guess what Sam is asking. “Have I ever fucked a guy?” He smirks. “Or been fucked?”

Sam bites his lip and nods. “Both?”

Dean swallows a laugh. After all this time, Sam still surprises him. “Both.”

“You let a guy...” He fidgets with the collar of Dean’s shirt, his eyes darting away and back again.

Dean takes pity on him. “Yes, I’ve let—even encouraged—guys to stick their dicks up my ass. Are you asking because you want me to do that to you, or because you want to fuck me?”

“Um, you. I want to, uh, to you.” 

Sam is so fucking adorable when he’s embarrassed that Dean can’t help but rib him. “If you can’t say it, Sammy, you shouldn’t be doing it.”

“Screw you,” Sam says as he flicks Dean’s ear. He makes intense eye contact and says, “Okay, fine. I want to fuck you.”

Dean shivers. Never in his wildest dreams did he ever imagine this could happen. That Sam would not only stay but would be a willing participant. Dean rises to his feet, hands going to his belt. 

They don’t speak while they undress and once all of Dean’s clothes are thrown over the chair at the little table, Dean takes a bottle of lube and a condom out of his duffle. When he turns, Sam gasps. He’s standing next to his bed, the covers pulled down and his hands clenched at his sides. 

“What’s wrong?” Dean asks, self-conscious. “You’ve seen me naked a hundred times.”

Sam’s throat bobs. “Not like this.”

Dean grins and his smile feels goofy. He’s so fucking happy; he doesn’t know how to put it into words. Dean takes the opportunity to look his fill of Sam, too. From the swell of his pecs and his dusky nipples, pebbling in the room’s chill, to the flat planes of his abs and lower to his cock jutting from the dark thatch of hair between his powerful thighs. Sam has always been beautiful to Dean, even when he was a baby, but now he's enough to take Dean’s breath away. 

When he raises his eyes back to Sam’s face, Sam smiles. Dean holds up the lube and condom. “How do you want to do this? I get tested about every six months, so if you don’t want to wrap it up, it’s okay with me.”

“You get tested?” Sam’s brows furrow.

“I try to find a free clinic when I know we’ll be somewhere for a few days.” Dean shrugs and tosses the condom and lube to Sam. “I’ve never fucked without, but shit happens. Better safe than sorry.”

Sam contemplates the supplies and puts the condom on the dresser. “As long as it’s okay with you.”

As long as it’s okay with him. Jesus. The thought of Sam bare inside him makes Dean want to drop to his knees and praise whatever fucked up deity saw fit to give him this, but all he says is, “Fine by me.”

Dean meets Sam next to the bed and this time, it’s Sam who cups Dean’s cheek to draw him into a kiss. Dean slides away to nip at Sam’s stubbled jaw and falls back onto the bed, pulling Sam down on top of him. They kiss languidly—not like Dean has ever kissed a guy before—until they’re rutting against each other. 

“How do you want me?”

Sam studies his face. “Um, whatever you want, I guess? How do you usually...” Sam frowns, and Dean takes perverse pleasure from the idea that Sam doesn’t like imagining him with other guys.

“On my hands and knees is good. Or I can ride you?” Dean says, wrapping his legs around Sam’s waist to try rolling them over. “This is your show, Sammy.”

Sam uses his leverage to keep Dean pinned under him and rolls his hips, sliding his cock along Dean’s. “How about like this?” he asks, tracing one hand down Dean’s arm. 

Dean swallows at the tender gesture. “I’ve never done it this way,” he admits. “Not with a guy.” Face to face is a little too intense for Dean. But for Sam, with Sam, Dean would do anything.

Sam nods as if he knows what Dean didn’t say and picks up the lube from the bed beside them. “So how do I, um, do I need to prepare you?”

“Use your fingers to push lube inside, but you don’t need to stretch me or anything. I like the burn.”

Sam’s face moves through a myriad of emotions as he considers that information, then he nods and rolls to the side to give himself room. The snick of the bottle pulls a Pavlovian response from Dean and his dick twitches as he watches Sam drizzle lube on his fingers. 

The sensation of Sam spreading lube around his opening draws a groan from Dean. His touch is gentle, almost sweet, and so different from the way Dean is used to being touched that it breaks down every defense Dean had left. Sam skips one finger and goes straight to sliding two inside, and Dean shudders and scrabbles at Sam’s arm. 

“You’re so hot inside,” Sam murmurs, wonder in his voice. He pulls his fingers partway out and drizzles more lube on them before pumping them in and out. Dean’s body lights up and he clenches around Sam’s fingers. At some point, he needs to give Sam a crash course in finding his prostate, but right now, he wants Sam inside him.

“Okay, fuck, that’s good.”

Sam nods, his face full of satisfaction, and pulls his fingers out. He wipes them on the sheets next to Dean’s hip and raises up on his knees. He spreads lube over his cock, and shuffles forward to press the head to Dean’s opening, his brows knitted in concentration. “I won’t hurt you, right?” 

Dean shakes his head. “No, trust me. Just take it easy at first.”

The blunt pressure against his hole increases and Sam bites his lip before rolling his hips. The head stretches Dean open and slips inside, and the shock of sensation steals Dean’s breath. Sam presses forward in a long, smooth motion until he’s buried to the hilt inside Dean. The burn of his entry lights up Dean’s nerve endings, making his entire body quiver.

“Holy shit, that’s tight,” Sam grunts, his voice strained. Dean clenches as Sam pulls out and pushes back in and Sam gasps. “Oh my god, it’s so good.”

Dean’s hand on the back of his neck drags Sam down for a kiss. “You feel amazing inside me.” 

The angle is different than Dean is used to, the rasp of hair on Sam’s thighs against his and the weight of Sam’s body holding him down adding to the sensory overload. With Sam bracing himself on his forearms, his forehead presses against Dean’s and Dean can’t escape his scrutiny. With anyone else, Dean would panic and try to get away, but with Sam, he's not afraid. He wraps his legs around Sam’s hips and lets Sam set the pace. It’s slow and tentative at first, punctuated by deep kisses that leave Dean drunk from the taste of Sam’s mouth. The fire Dean usually chases at breakneck pace builds gradually, the heat unfurling from deep inside him with each drag of Sam’s cock. If only they could stay like this forever, just the two of them.

But the embers eventually blaze to an inferno and by the time Sam is thrusting into him in earnest, Dean is clutching at Sam’s back, urging him on. Dean’s cock slides between their stomachs, the friction too light to push him over the edge. When he tries to work a hand between them, Sam catches on and raises up onto his hands to give Dean room. Sam braces his knees on the bed and thrusts harder, and the change in angle sends his cock sliding over Dean’s prostate. The combination sets fireworks off behind Dean’s eyes and his orgasm rolls through him.

The pleasure leaves Dean gasping for air and he tries to focus on the uncoordinated grind of Sam’s body as he chases his own release. “Come on, Sam, I got you. Let go,” Dean murmurs, reaching up to cup his palm over Sam’s heart. Sam thrusts in again and stiffens, his eyes locked on Dean’s face. He shudders a few times and his cock throbs inside Dean like the answer to a prayer Dean hadn’t known he was praying.

Sam holds himself up, shifting his weight to keep from crushing Dean, but Dean is having none of it. He wraps his arms around Sam’s back and pulls him down until his weight presses Dean into the mattress, his cock still buried inside Dean’s body. Dean presses a kiss behind Sam’s ear and laughs when Sam’s hair tickles his nose.

“I’ll smash you,” Sam protests, trying to wiggle away, but his resistance is cursory.

“I don’t care.”

They lay like that, with Dean stroking his hands up and down Sam’s back, until Sam’s cock softens enough to slip out. Though he’d been expecting it, the sudden emptiness makes Dean’s heart ache.

He holds onto that ache while they clean up, but when he reaches for his clothes, Sam takes his hand and leads him back to bed. They crawl under the covers and Sam wraps his arms around Dean, his naked chest pressed to Dean’s back. Never did Dean imagine he would enjoy being the little spoon.

Dean is almost asleep when Sam murmurs, “I’m not sorry.”

“I’m not either.” Dean holds his breath waiting for the rest.

“I needed that, thank you.”

“Any time.” Dean tenses further.

“We shouldn’t—” Sam begins, his breath tickling the back of Dean’s ear. “I’m not saying never again, but this can’t be everything, Dean. You deserve to find someone you can build a life with.”

“You do too,” Dean responds, but the words taste like ash in his mouth. He already has a life with Sam.

“So we agree that this is okay? We can blow off steam this way when the pressures of the job get to be too much, but we can’t let it impede actual relationships.”

Dean wants to rail against that, to argue that this is an actual relationship, the only relationship that matters to him, but he knows Sam is right. There’s no mythical picket fence in Dean’s future, but Sam deserves to have something good in his life once this is over. He deserves to have a relationship he can be proud of, someone he can show off, not something where he has to skulk in the shadows and hide. “Absolutely,” he lies. “That’s all this is.”

“Okay, good.” Sam settles into the mattress, and his arm tightens a little more around Dean’s waist. “Goodnight, Dean.”

There’s a pang in Dean’s chest as he settles into the embrace. “Goodnight, Sammy.”


End file.
